Burning Bridges
by Arcturox
Summary: After the accidental murder of a young royal in High-Rock, Myrad Ulric earns a lifetime of exile on the island of Vvardenfell. Uncultured, unskilled, and alone, Myrad must learn to survive in a harsh and unfamiliar world. Meanwhile, in the mountains of mainland Morrowind, an elder master of the great house Hlaalu prepares for his journey to Vvardenfell...
1. Chapter 1: Exile

Deep in the West Reach mountains of High-Rock, there lived an old man. The people of Erikhir knew him as The Mountain Mage. But his true name was Myrad Ulric, Stormcaller, King of Crows, and the Blue Flash. His mortality had been stretched beyond what was generally imagined possible, and each wrinkle on his face hid one of his many lives lived.

* * *

"Myrad Ulric."

His name was said with disdain and an incredible boredom that Myrad felt could only be achieved through hatred of one's job. The imperial guard aboard the prison ship was reading off the names of those being unloaded. Strangely enough, it was only Myrad and three others, a dark elf whose name he had not bothered to remember, and two Kahjiit brothers: Dar'Husbar and Dar'Khazar. He had only learned their names due to the fact they shared a cell. Myrad was curious about this inefficient way to transport prisoners, but wasn't about to push his luck with this particular any more than he already had. Only a few months ago, Myrad Ulric had been a fairly respected member of his hometown in Highrock. He grew up in Evermor and showed magical promise in his early education. His family had been very proud back then. He got the feeling that when they spoke of him to the other families now, their pride over his gifted prodigal status would not be so gushing.

The guard escorted him down the dock and shoved Myrad not too gently through the office door. He was greeted by another imperial soldier and a slightly shriveled bearded old man. By the insignia on his robes, Myrad recognized him as a census worker. Vile creatures. They came to his home in Evermor every year. It was never a pleasant day.

"Good afternoon. You have a lot of paperwork to go through so let's make this as painless as possible." The husk of a man stated, gesturing to the paper-laden desk.

"I sincerely doubt that is avoidable while in a census office." Myrad sighed, flopping himself into a chair by the desk.

"How humorous." said the census worker with a thick dose of sarcasm, "I assume it's that sort of attitude towards authority that landed you in my fine establishment?"

Myrad didn't look up from the forms he had just begun filling out. "I'm sorry, I couldn't possibly muster up a response to that. I am completely embroiled in these incredible forms. Did you design these? Very festive."

The census worker's brow furrowed, but for the rest of the process, he was silent.

"Finished." Myrad groaned, pushing forward the stack of papers. The man picked them up, browsed through them, and raised an eyebrow at Myrad. "Myrad Ulric, age 18. A little young to be worth an Imperial exile, hm?" Myrad shrugged, refusing to answer. The census worker tapped the papers against his desk and handed them back to Myrad. "Very well, take these to Sellus Gravias in the next building."

Myrad began to walk out as the wrinkled old man caught his robe sleeve. "And I recommend you keep that foul tongue inside your head while speaking with him. There are worse places than Morrowind that we could send you."

Myrad pulled away sharply and continued his walk down the hallway, grumbling. "Good luck finding a place."

As he walked a short way down the hallway, his brooding turned swiftly to fuming anger. His place was in Highrock, not some terrifying dreary dark-elf rock in the middle of Morrowind. His warm bed materialized itself in his mind... its fine silk sheets, the fluffy down pillow, the deep cushioned comforter...He shook the thought from his mind. _The best way to deal with it is to forget_, he reminded himself as he had countless times already.

He turned the sharp corner into a small room off of the hallway that led outside, and suddenly a thought crossed his mind. Not a single soul could see him. The room was well outside of the sight of the guards and census man; who would notice a few things missing? He immediately began poking through the baskets and boxes for anything of value. All in all, he found a dagger, twenty five gold pieces, a lockpick, a fairly well made bottle, and a note to some Argonian... or maybe a Khajiit. Myrad never was that good at telling the difference between their names. He figured even a note was paperwork, and if there was one thing that would mess up the census bureau, it would be missing paperwork. Smiling to himself, Myrad stuffed what could fit into his robe and carried the bottle up his sleeve. Pleased with his achievements, he finally exited the office. Before entering Sellus Gravias' separate building across the minuscule courtyard, Myrad rifled through one last barrel, finding, to his delight, a mediocrely crafted ring. He slipped it on and headed inside, using his bottle-free arm to hand over the paperwork.

Sellus glanced over the papers lazily before tossing them onto the thick wooden table next to him and picking up a small package that had been waiting there. He handed this over to Myrad with a small note pinned to it.

"Already giving me gifts? We've just barely met!" Myrad exclaimed sarcastically.

"Keep your fucking tongue inside your head." Sellus growled. Myrad twitched in surprise, it seemed the man was not in the most solid of moods.

"By the nine, friend. I know you're a guard but I wasn't aware poking fun was illegal." Sellus whirled, the look on his face suddenly dark and threatening, his arm curled into an elbow jab, and he slammed Myrad in the jaw, savagely tossing him to the floor with his strike. Myrad was stunned into silence.

Sellus straightened his doublet. "Package delivery is a standard procedure for those being released. Cheap, free, _mandatory_ labor. You understand? You fail in this delivery and you'll have a sword through your skull instead of my arm."

Myrad held his mouth very pointedly shut for his last few moments in that building. After he managed to raise himself, he swiftly paced out of there, package cradled in his arms.

As soon as he exited the building, Myrad spotted a wood elf walking briskly over to him. After just being assaulted, Myrad was a little more wary and began backing up in the other direction, just in case. To his relief the wood elf looked distraught rather than angry.

"I saw you come out of the census office. You didn't happen to find a ring in there did you? Small, green?"

Myrad's ring-bearing hand shot up into his sleeve. He figured if the elf saw it, he would think it was Myrad who took it. "I'm afraid I barely looked around at all. Sorry, my good fellow."

"Oh..." The Wood Elve's disappointment was so audible Myrad immediately began to feel terrible. The little elf was only an outsider in these lands like Myrad, and besides that, it _was_ a pretty ill-made ring... Myrad was about to give it back when the Wood Elf turned and an opportunity presented itself. There was a rear pocket in the wood elf's pants; it would be more than simple enough to simply slip the ring into his pants without his knowledge. A pleasant surprise for him later. So, as Myrad strode past him, he tossed the ring, landing it directly within the small pocket.

Perfect shot.

Myrad could not recall a time in the year he had been so proud of himself. It was quite a feat of stealth for him, and a good deed too at that! Myrad was smiling from ear to ear on his way through town. Yes, with a robe full of pilfered goods, and a smile on his face, Myrad had truly begun to turn over a new leaf.

As his glowing pride began to subside, Myrad took stock of his surroundings. It was bar none, the worst excuse for a "town" he had ever been witness to. The buildings were stone and wood hovels, the paths were dirt, the largest building was a lighthouse that was maybe three stories high. Trash littered areas off the side of the road, and near everyone walking past wore a sort of dead expression on their faces that Myrad was incredibly off-put by. He was swiftly resolved to leave Seyda Neen as soon as possible. However, looking at the roads around here, he wondered how well a carriage ride would fare. Maybe it would be best to find a simple horse, since they would be able to deal with the rockiness of the road better. Myrad shifted into a small shadowed area and contemplated his escape plan as he emptied his stolen goods out onto the ground. At first he had thought that maybe he would sell the dagger and the bottle, but now that he was thinking about escaping, having a weapon around might not be a bad idea, and the bottle he could fill with water for the road… The note was worthless, clearly he thought, tossing it to the ground. The gold…now that was the real treasure here (as gold usually is wont to be). Twenty five gold could get him something, maybe even _somewhere_. He could at the very least pick up a supply of food with it. A waft of manure and something fish-like drifted past Myrad's unprepared nostrils. Maybe food could wait. Getting out of Seyda Neen suddenly felt like a much higher priority.

After a brief bout of coughing, Myrad pulled himself together, sheathed his new dagger, and jogged down the main excuse for a road. Soon his eyes caught who he was looking for: a small and distraught Wood Elf.

"Hello, excuse me my good man!"

The Wood Elf took a moment to realize Myrad was addressing him. "Y-yes? Oh! It's you! Have you found my ring?" His face lit with a brief hope, which Myrad was quick to dash.

"No, but I'm sure it will turn up soon enough." He shot the elf what he believed to be a grin of confidence. "I have an unrelated question for you. Where might one rent a horse in this… town?" He said the last word with a bit of uncertainty, unsure whether to call Seyda Neen a town, a village, or a woebegone heap of dirt and sadness.

The Wood Elf shook his head, "I'm sorry, Breton, but there are no horses on Morrowind."

Myrad scoffed as though the Wood Elf were joking, but swiftly realized the expression on his addressors face was quite serious.

"What…hm… How exactly _do_ the locals get around then?" Myrad mulled each sentence through his head twice to make sure that he left out all of the offences he wanted to say.

The Wood Elf smiled. "Ah, you'd want to hire a strider. They're quite fascinating creatures, and your journey will be far quicker than on a horse, I assure you."

_This_ could be good news, perhaps these striders would be a step up from a horse, and he _did_ want to leave as fast as possible. The Wood Elf, as if sensing Myrad's need, pointed in the direction which Myrad assumed his goal could be reached.

"Thank you! You've saved me a good bit of discomfort." Myrad took off down the path once more, heading towards the town periphery. Just as he was leaving the Wood Elve's range of hearing he shouted out, "And make sure to check your pockets! You never know what you could have forgotten in there!"


	2. Chapter 2: Silt Striding

"What. In. The. Nine. Divines."

Myrad's mouth was pulled agape. What stood in front of him was a multi-story tall monolith, resembling a giant wood-flea. Its shell plating was cut away to reveal a section filled with a saddle, a few passenger seats, and a pile of crated cargo. Something about seeing a creature cut open and filled with artificial goods turned Myrad's stomach. Maybe the strider was not the best idea. In fact, Myrad would go so far as to say, maybe the strider shouldn't be considered ever again. The presumed pilot of the horror had already caught eyes with Myrad and was walking over, dressed in what Myrad assumed to be the traditional dress of Morrowind, which was to say, boring brown ragged dirty farmer clothes. Myrad had to force himself to not turn up his nose. The pull to be polite and reflect his good upbringing overcame his discomfort in almost any situation.

"Where would you like to go?" The ill-dressed Dunmer spoke in a gravelly haggard voice.

"Ah, straight to the point. I can appreciate that." Myrad cleared his throat. "What are your prices?"

"Twenty five for Balmora, thirty for Suran, thirty for Gnisis, thirty five for Vivec."

Myrad cursed under his breath. None of that meant anything to him, but price-wise, he had been given only one option. His gaze shuffled between the poor shamble of a town behind him, and the giant dirty flea in front of him. To Myrad, it was a no-win scenario, but he supposed only one of the two options presented the possibility of getting somewhere bearable.

"Right, Balmora it is then. Here is your gold, sir. I'm sure your… creature will provide a pleasant ride."

The Dunmer grunted a lazy agreement. Myrad climbed aboard with a markable lack of grace, and waited while a few more passengers trickled onboard. Before he could brace himself, the strider began to stride. Its long legs took massive paces across the landscape, keeping the upper body surprisingly level and stable. The ride was so comfortable, Myrad's eyes began to droop, and soon he was drifting off into sleep. A sleep pock marked by dark thoughts, and nightmarish memories...

* * *

His eyes fluttered open as Myrad was awoken by a strange and dissonant blowing of a horn. As he raised himself from the soft cloth mats of the strider, he saw that the master of the beast was standing at the front of its hollow segment, a strange tube in hand, likely the source of the sound.

"If I may ask sir, have we arrived in… erm…?" His brain searched desperately for the name of his destination, but he was swiftly interrupted.

"Balmora," The dark elf grunted out, "Your destination, sera."

Myrad nodded, wiping sleep from his face as he stood. Eager to see if he'd made the right choice, Myrad stepped over to the side of the strider and gazed out across the landscape. Ahead lay a great conglomeration of buildings, they were a yellowed brown clay - still a far cry from the wood and plaster streets of Evermor, but larger by far than the meager settlement of Seyda Neen. Myrad allowed himself a grin. Yes, this had been a fine use for his money. In a city like this, perhaps he could even get some decent food and a bed. Walking back to his mat, he gathered up his bottle and the parcel imparted to him by the Empire. He still didn't feel particularly drawn to pay it heed. Finding a place where he would be comfortable came first by an infinity. The Strider soon came to a smooth stop at the edge of a raised stairwell meant for disembarking passengers. Myrad descended and thunder rolled across the distant coast. As he thought vaguely about where he might find a decent roof for his head, Myrad was struck with the sudden realization the he was now completely without gold. Pulling the bottle out of his robe, he re-examined it, assessing its value as best he could. It was worth nothing compared to those he'd seen back home, but to impoverished folk such as the Dunmer of Morrowind…who could know? His first stop was to be a pawnshop then. Maybe if the bottle fetched a fair price he could buy himself a small room for the night while he…while he figured something else out. Honestly, he wasn't sure what his plan was from here. Deliver the package? Maybe… But the Empire hadn't exactly been doing him any favors lately, and exile wasn't the best motivator for manual labor in Myrad's experience.

The door of the small pawnshop swung open as Myrad strode in, he took a quick look around to appraise the cat's merchandise and size up some comparison prices for his bottle. To Myrad's dismay there were quite a few nicer pieces of glassware around. Pity the man didn't keep a poorer stock, or Myrad could have asked a better price.

"Excuse me, sir Kahjiit?"

"Ah. Hello, my Breton friend. How are you finding Ra'virr's wares?" The Kahjiit's eyes flitted over Myrad, investigating their potential customer. It made Myrad a touch uncomfortable, but honestly the cat folk had always put him off a bit.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, it's all quite nice. I'm afraid my plan for the moment however is to do the selling to you."

Ra'virr's ears twitched slightly "Ahhh trade, yes. This is good. What is it you are interested in pawning?"

Myrad produced the bottle and laid it on the table with a small flourish. Ra'virr looked at it with quiet disapproval.

"A single bottle, sera?"

"Aye. How much are you willing to give?" Myrad said, making sure his voice was even and serious. It was obvious the cat was trying to make him uncomfortable with his offering in order to negotiate a better price. The Khajiit looked the bottle up and down for a moment then looked back at Myrad.

"Two gold."

Myrad scoffed. "Surely you could manage to pay me _close_ to what it's worth. Five gold, if you will."

"Two gold." The Khajiit said again, his voice more forceful. "This bottle is cheap and ugly. Ra'virr will not give you any more."

Myrad looked into the cat's eyes and saw nothing but a dull dislike for the situation Myrad had begun. He let out a sigh.

"Fine, three gold."

"_Two gold._" Ra'virr stated this with a low hiss which took Myrad off guard. "Two gold is as far as Ra'virr goes because bottle is worth nothing and Breton is wasting Ra'virr's time."

Myrad threw his hands up in a mock surrender, and the Khajiit rolled his eyes, slapping two coins on the counter and putting the bottle up on the shelf behind him. Myrad slipped the gold into his pocket and dipped his head in thanks, making as swift an exit as appropriate. As soon as he had cleared the doorframe, swears streamed out under his breath.

"_Damn fleabag and his stingy tail. Wasting his time? He's a pawnbroker for fucks sake, it's his job to buy and sell he should be thanking me for my business. Hell I probably know more about prices than he does the fucker, and two gold doesn't get me SHIT._"

The coins jingled lightly in his pocket. Too lightly. Two gold wouldn't even come close to getting him a bed, or a roof for that matter.

As his angry pace brought him to the edge of the thin river that ran through the center of Balmora, the first few raindrops began to fall. He cursed again and made a quicker pace toward one of the nearby buildings. The raindrops were coming down now and Myrad began to dampen. The closest open entryway was a small arch framing the entrance of a stairway to the second story. He climbed them briskly and was met with a locked door. Lightning cracked as Myrad slumped beneath the doorframe which offered a few inches of protection. But while his head stayed dry, his legs began to soak. The wetness traveled up his robe like a plague, causing him to shiver from the cold. This was not the way a prodigal student of the Evermor Mage's Academy was supposed to live. The feeling of the frigid water on his legs brought him a cold reminder of the scars he had there. Those lines of burnt skin trailing across his legs. The ones that he had caused. Shivers coursed down Myrad's spine as the sound of a young boy's dying screams echoed in his head. It was an accident. Everyone there knew it was an accident.

The thunder cracked as the lightning struck closer. The skies began to get dark, both by storm cloud and the retreat of the sun. Myrad had never slept outside before. The wet robe was plastered against his legs like a soggy piece of ice. Tears began to escape him as he pulled himself tighter against the door. He hadn't meant it. It wasn't his fault. Everyone knew he didn't do it on purpose. The theory was solid, it should have worked. Something just went wrong, human error, no one could have known.

Myrad shook the wet robes from sticking to his legs. "Fuck this." Myrad said aloud to the beating rains. "Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this!" the light jingle in his pockets as Myrad struck the clay walls in frustration was just another cruel reminder of his poverty. He broke down sobbing, thumbing the gold in his pocket. This was it. This was all he had. No more family, no home, no friends, no magic... Just two Imperial pieces from pawning a stolen bottle. His fingers brushed against something long and metal in his robe. He'd forgotten about the lockpick. Myrad pulled out the thin piece of iron and stared at the lock of his current shelter. Maybe he could at least get out of this rain... It didn't seem so complicated. He knew the theory, but he'd never quite been rebellious enough to break any locks back in High-Rock. He drew a deep shivering breath, then began a process of delicate turns and pokes within the locking mechanism. Myrad found himself picturing the inner tumblers of the lock quite vividly. It seemed as though it was five prongs he would have to bypass in total. It wasn't the most complex lock he had read about, and soon he could feel that three of the lock's mechanisms had been successfully pushed into place. His jaw tightened in concentration as he moved on to the final tumblers, pushing them in while gently turning the door's handle.

There was a quiet click, and the entrance swung smoothly open.


	3. Chapter 3: Work

The interior warmth hit Myrad's face like the grace of Mara and he closed his eyes in momentary bliss. His face wet with residual tears, he shed his robe as fast as he could, holding it outside the still-open door and wringing it out as best he could. Looking into the house it seemed he was in an empty bedroom. It was fairly well lit with a bookshelf, a chest, and a few baskets in the corner by some stairs… there was no one home it seemed. Maybe he'd had a stroke of luck. As what he had just done dawned on him, he glance back at the door for a moment, contemplating whether he should leave and find another place to hide himself from the rain. Breaking into a stranger's home was not exactly Myrad's usual day to day, but the torrent of rain and flashes of lightning were a solid argument for his law-breaking. Myrad made up his mind that he would at least check the house to see if anyone was home first. If they were…well, he wasn't sure. Maybe he would beg for shelter… He shook the notion his head. No Ulric had ever begged for anything. Myrad would sooner freeze to death in that rain than beg.

Looking around the upper room he was quite clearly alone, but the lower level was a mystery. Moving crouched and silently as he could along the clay floor, Myrad peered over the edge of the stairway. The landing was empty. Moving around to the top of the stairs, Myrad descended, slowly, still shivering a bit from the cold of the storm. As he reached the bottom and finally got a good view of the rest of the small home, he felt a tingle in his nose and his eyes snapped shut in a sneeze. Horrified, he stared wide eyed around the room, waiting for the owner of the house to pop out, screaming of burglary.

No one came. The house was empty. Myrad let out a long weary sigh and lay back on the stairs, finally having a moment to relax. In only a few minutes of stillness, warmth returned to his shaking fingertips and he began to feel the stresses of the day weighing on his eyelids. Looking up the stairs he saw the corner of the bed beckoning him in, and he was inclined to obey. Shambling up the stairs he stood over the bed for a moment, hesitating once again over his decision to sleep in a stranger's home.

"The bed's probably stuffed with mud and hay anyhow." He mumbled. Looking around the house he saw nothing of particular value; in all likelihood, the bed wouldn't be more comfortable than lying on the stairs. Hesitation thrown aside by his weariness and need for shelter, he removed his shoes and prepared for sleep. Reaching into the damp pocket of his robe which now slumped in a heap on the floor, Myrad retrieved the two gold, placing them on the bedside table. If anyone came in the middle of the night, maybe his measly offering would help… if only a small amount. His conscience slightly satisfied, Myrad crawled under the covers of the bed, its softness enveloping him like an embrace. He audibly gasped and curled up into the sheets.

"Sweet Mara, what in oblivion is this?" He whispered to himself. It was the single most incredible bed he had ever been in, and Myrad took pride in his old sleeping quarters back in Evermor. How did one manage to craft something this unbelievably comfortable? Myrad spent little time wondering however, and rolled about in bliss for a few moments before finally settling on a comfortable position and letting sleep wash over him. For the first time in months, Myrad had a full, dreamless night's rest.

* * *

"Get up you little shit."

Myrad's eyes opened to a hazy candlelit room.

"I said, get up! Try anything and I'll stick this in yer gut! I swear on Satakal I will end you!"

Myrad shot up in panic from the bed, provoking a jump of surprise from his addressor. Wiping the sleep from his widened eyes, Myrad was presented with an angry young woman: a Redguard, brandishing a dagger similar in size to his own that shone in the candlelight.

"Wh-" Myrad began and was swiftly cut off.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bed you little n'wah?" The woman had a fighting stance, and her eyes were locked on his, fiery with anger.

Myrad glanced about nervously. Gods this had been a terrible idea to begin with; he should have never come in here. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He shouted to himself in his head.

"Well!? Speak up! You haven't got time to waste!" The Redguard growled swirling the knife threateningly.

"I-I uhhh…" Myrad stammered, searching for the words that could get him out of this. "I was uh, caught in the storm… I-I'm new in town and couldn't find the inn…I got trapped on your upper deck and the door was unlocked so I-"

"The door's always locked." The young woman interrupted. "And I've already been through your things, found your lockpick."

Shit. "Oh uh, well it was an emergency. I was freezing to death out there. I am very sorry ma'am." Myrad stood up and began fixing the sheets to occupy his adrenaline-filled hands. As he stood, the knife swung back into a striking position before relaxing as the woman realized what he was doing.

"It's "ma'am" now eh?" The Redguard folded her arms, no longer brandishing the dagger so menacingly. Myrad made a note of that in his head. He was making progress here. Maybe she'd let him go without getting him fined or sent back to the Imperials. She continued as Myrad made the bed. "It sure wasn't "ma'am" when you were breaking into my house last night. Obviously I didn't even warrant enough respect to have personal privacy."

"Yes… Sorry, miss…?" Myrad paused, obviously searching for the woman's name

"I'm not telling you my name. What are you, touched in the head?" She scoffed, sheathing her dagger. "Oh, and I took this knife out of your robe. Unless you have recompense beyond those two pieces of gold that were on the table, you'll not be getting it back."

"You're robbing me for sleeping in your home!?" Myrad burst out, instantly forgetting his current predicament. People taking his things had always set him off. The Redguard woman stared incredulously at him.

"You broke into my house! You're a thieving, lying little street rat foreigner and you've just slept in my lovely bed! No, I'm not robbing you; I'm taking what's mine!" She turned and strode down the stairs, yelling up to him, "and if you're not out of my house by the time I come back up there, I really will stab you!"

Myrad puffed angrily as he finished with the covers, mumbling curses to himself before gathering his things and slipping on his shoes. He paused a moment. Where was his robe? He wondered if she'd taken that too. He couldn't be expected to wander around in his underclothes; what was she thinking? Myrad was about to call down to her when his eye caught the familiar pattern of his robe sleeve. It was hanging on a small rack by the door. A laundry beating stick was next to it. Reaching out his hand to the end of the sleeve he found it to be quite dry.

"Hey, n'wah."

Myrad whirled. The woman stood behind him with her- no, _his_ knife held lazily at her side.

"I said get out."

Myrad nodded, eyeing the knife with mild worry. He quickly slipped on his robe under the watchful eyes of the Redguard and opened the door. As he stepped outside, he took one last backward glance and a moment of clarity hit him. The woman had just let him get off of a charge of breaking and entering, and she only took some cheap knife and a couple septims from him. The least he could do was apologize more thoroughly.

"I really am sorry miss." He began, "And I'd like to thank you fo-"

The door slammed shut and he heard a bolt from the other side. Myrad grimaced. _Well excuse me for being polite._

* * *

Looking out over the town and the position of the sun, Myrad deduced that it was still early morning, sometime around eight or so. The world had changed drastically from the night before. The ground was wet and pocked by puddles, but the storm had completely passed. Guards in spiked yellow menacing armor patrolled the streets as a small number of citizens began their days throughout Balmora.

Myrad's walk through the city was meandering and without a goal. His previous night was a forceful reminder of what his new life would entail. The memory of some stranger calling him a street rat burned through the back of his skull. Myrad was poor, without lodging, and without work. He didn't even have any useful skills for Oblivion's sake. Desperately, Myrad sifted through his brain for anything he could do for coin. He couldn't use magic, he couldn't fight whatsoever… Nothing he could muster would make him the gold he needed soon enough. _Except,_ Myrad mused,_ lockpicking, maybe_. Rifling through his pocket's Myrad found his lockpick, and wondered for a moment why the woman hadn't taken that with his dagger._ "Burglars and beggars,"_ Myrad remembered his father laughing through a thick mustache, _"Both are scum, but only one of them uses skill to make their coin."_

A long sigh sieved through Myrad's clenched teeth as he massaged his forehead.

Drawing with a twig, Myrad crafted the city of Balmora out of vague, childlike shapes. He put an "x" over the Redguard's house. Breaking in there a second time would be a mistake. Trailing his twig over the other building shapes he marked a couple places with a "p" for "possible". His brain suddenly whirled with guilt and shame. Why am I even doing this? I couldn't just… Myrad slumped down on a crate in his alley and knocked his head back against the building wall. Gods I'm worthless. He glanced back down at his map. He wouldn't be taking that much. Just enough for a night's lodging somewhere… His eyes stuck on Ra'virr's pawnshop. The cat does owe me. Myrad mused. Shit, it's partly his fault I'm even in this mess. The shadow of a figure stepped past his alley and Myrad hurriedly scuffed out his map. The stranger passed by without a glance and Myrad let out a long breath. _I'll wait until sundown of course._ Myrad thumbed at the lockpick in his pocket as he strode back out into the streets. _Once he closes up and goes to sleep. That's how the thieves usually do it right?_ He paused for a moment as he came to the street where his target lay. _No…no what if I did it now and broke into the upper level? He'd be in his shop still…I'd take any loose coins and maybe a candlestick or two…He might not even notice._ Myrad smirked. Yes. This was a much better plan: quick gold, nothing large scale.

The building was much the same design as the Redguard's, with an upper level accessible by small stairway. Briefly checking through a window as he walked by, he could see Ra'virr speaking with a smile to a customer in his store, quite well occupied. _Even better._ Myrad turned on a heel and quickly crept up the stairs, making sure that no one on the street was watching him. _This is no different than last night,_ Myrad was reminded as he steadied himself. _This is a matter of life or death._ Whipping out his lockpick, Myrad took to the tumblers once more. There were five of them, just like last time, but this lock seemed to be giving him more trouble. The thought that maybe he had just gotten lucky last time crossed his mind more than once for the few minutes in which he worked, but every moment he felt he may have to give up, a new piece of the lock fell into place.

The lock clicked and the nob turned easily in his hand. The door swung open with a silence Myrad could not be more thankful for. Down the stairs he could hear muffled speech about prices. Its quiet tones gave Myrad hope that his sneaking would go unheard through the relatively thick clay floor. Making his way into the room he found it to be fairly bare. There was a shelf, a small chest, a bed, a night table, and a few baskets lying about. A simple whiff of the baskets let Myrad know it was some sort of foul smelling Vvardenfell foodstuff which he had no interest in. His thievery was concentrated on the small chest and the clutter of the night table. Five gold pieces slipped off the table into his pockets, and his hand gently pulled at the top of Ra'virr's small lock-box chest. As he thought, the chest refused to pull open. A simple looking lock blocked his entry. Myrad pulled out his lockpick once again, but the motion of his hand in the robe caused his ill-gotten gold to jingle quite loudly. Myrad clapped a hand against his pocket, silencing the noise as quickly as he could. Ear turned to the stairs, Myrad's heart sank. The voices had silenced, and he could hear the steady beat of footsteps.


	4. Chapter 4: Shein Dreams

For a moment Myrad glanced nervously back at the lockbox. How fast could he open it? He didn't have time. The footsteps were getting closer. Making a quick decision, he snatched up the lockbox and sprinted for the exit. The moment his feet touched the outer steps he slammed the door shut behind him, immediately receiving a shocked indiscernible shout from within. Leaping off the steps, Myrad sprinted towards the edge of town, turning as many corners as he could to throw off whoever may be chasing behind him. He wondered if the Khajiit had seen his face. The thought of the Balmora guards catching him sent shivers down his spine. There was no telling what kind of "justice" they'd have in store for an outlander. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Myrad cleared the wall of the city through a small opening in the eastern half of town. Ahead stood a single story round topped building: a temple of some description by the looks of it. Myrad kept up his heated pace as he ran along the outer temple walls, hiding himself behind the far side of the building. He glanced nervously back at the town a few times, but saw no one. Myrad blew out the breath he'd been holding in his chest and the sinking feeling of fear faded into one of shaky nervousness. He'd gotten away, just barely. Briefly he wondered if the money was the cat's only savings but quickly put the thought out of his mind. _The fellow owns a shop, I'm sure he'll be fine._

To occupy himself as he waited longer for things to blow over, Myrad tried his hand again at picking the box, but found that his fingers still refused to sit still. Quickly giving up on that endeavor, Myrad was struck by sudden inspiration. He had to get rid of the box somehow before going back into town, so smashing it open was a pretty good way to go. The chest was made of a light wood, so it seemed like a fairly easy task. Taking up a fist sized stone from a hill behind the temple, Myrad slammed a solid blow down on the chest, but only succeeded in denting the wood. After a few more tries, it was clear this method was not going to work. Instead he took the chest up the hill, and hurled it downward towards a rocky outcropping. As wood cracked loudly against the stone, the box blew open, splintering over the boulders. Out of its destruction poured a fine pile of gold, spilling out coinage across the ground.

Practically overcome with joy, Myrad let out a whoop and jogged down the hill to his prize, collecting the gold into his robe pockets. After scouring the ground for any loose septims, Myrad took another look into town, finding the streets to be quite without any distressed Khajiit pawnbrokers or searching guards. It seemed no one was looking for him, for now. After his time spent behind the temple however, the sun was almost beginning to set, and despite his new pile of money enabling him to leave town, being outside in Vvardenfell at night made Myrad quite nervous. _No, an Inn for me tonight. And perhaps a bottle of wine._ Myrad grinned, pleased with this turn of events.

After a short time of asking around town for the names of inns, Myrad settled on the Eight Plates. A rather small establishment, he thought. But he was assured it was the best Balmora had to offer. Walking into the place it seemed to be rather bare, but Myrad made no remarks about the decor as he approached the woman standing behind the bar. Smiling as he strode up, he made an extremely overt attempt to reach her attention.

"Yes, outlander…what is it you want?" The Dunmer woman spoke with a thin level of disdain which Myrad had felt in nearly everyone's voice since he arrived in Vvardenfell.

"I'd like to purchase a room for this evening miss." Myrad said. Falling back into the mannerisms of the wealthy felt like a cool and refreshing bath. Myrad was naturally himself for the first time in a long while.

The Dunmer nodded, dropping some of her disgruntled expression. "Ah, of course, outlander. That will be ten septims, if you please."

Myrad reached into his pocket and pulled out the corresponding amount of coinage.

"I'll be ordering a bottle of wine as well. I'm not sure what you carry, but I'd like a white of mid-range expense."

"This gold has got dirt on it." The Dunmer folded the coins over in her hands, pulling a face at them.

Myrad nodded. "Yes. They have. I took a tumble on my way here and some spilled to the ground I'm afraid."

The Dunmer sighed, and pulled out a bottle from behind the shelf. "This is shein. It's the only wine I carry." She slid the bottle over to Myrad. "That will be thirty gold, outlander."

Myrad laughed, and pulled out twenty five pieces, placing them on the counter.

"That's quite obviously not the real price, my dear. Twenty five is as far as I'll go. Now, which door is mine?"

The woman spat to the floor behind the counter and glared at Myrad.

"Fine, outlander. Your room is up the stairs and immediately to the right. I'm Dulnea. If you have any problems, feel free not to bother me with them."

Myrad nodded and flashed her a smile once again, taking his bottle of shein and stepping across the room at a swift pace, eager to close himself off from the rest of Balmora. _Uncultured riff-raff_.

His room was absolutely minuscule and Myrad audibly groaned upon entry. He found himself continually asking what these Dunmer were thinking when they built these clay shacks. The room had only a cheap looking chest, a wardrobe, and beside the bed was a small nightstand sporting a squat little candle. Myrad tossed his bottle onto the bed, and after disrobing, quickly followed it there. The sheets were soft enough, and the pillow cupped his head quite nicely, but the mattress was thin and hard. Myrad thought dreamily about the Redguard's glorious mattress as he uncorked his bottle of shein. A thick aroma of wine filled the room. Putting his nose to the neck of his bottle, Myrad took a fuller whiff of his purchase. Quickly he withdrew it as his eyes began to water.

"Sweet Mara, they make it strong here…" he whispered to himself before squaring his shoulders, and tipping the bottle to his lips. As expected, the shein burned his throat as it slithered into his stomach. The taste was pleasant enough, but the fire in his gut was decidedly more potent than wine he'd experienced before. After only a few more gulps, and perhaps a half an hour of waiting, Myrad was beginning to feel the alcohol's wondrous effects. With a shield of booze to negate the burning, Myrad was free to guzzle as he pleased, swiftly downing most of the bottle over the next hour.

"Thank the nine for Dunmeri wine~!" Myrad rhymed loudly, rolling the now empty shein off of his bed with a thud.

"Good gods, this room is small!" Myrad stretched out his arms from his sprawling position on the bed, attempting to reach both walls at once. As more of his weight was shifted to the edge of the bed, Myrad quickly lost balance, chuckling as he pulled himself back up onto the pillow.

"And this bed is shit!" He kicked at it with his bare feet before rolling over into a more comfortable position. "I want the other one…" Myrad trailed off as he fantasized about his previous night's sleep. Suddenly he rolled back upright, slapping his hand against his forehead.

"Awww shit! I left the fuggin package at that asshole's house!" Myrad sighed, slumping back into a laid down position.

"She probably already sold it or somefin already. Shit! _And_ I want my fuggin dagger back…"

A sleepy feeling crept up on Myrad as he pondered how the Redguard would react to him coming around again. "Probably…stab me or…or somethin'…" Myrad mumbled, nuzzling his face into the pillow. His skin still buzzing from his adventure into the world of Dunmer-brewed wine, Myrad fell into an unfortunately fitful sleep.

* * *

The room was hushed as Myrad stood behind a small but ornate podium. He faced a massive round room, filled with similarly robed men and women of his age, their eyes all turned to him. In the center of the room stood a tall pillar-like mechanical device. Contained in clear and crystalline glass, a massive spike connected to a small engine was mounted within. Near the bottom of the pillar was a small door, thick and wrought from iron with a sturdy bar-lock holding it closed. A lanky young man with a thick puff of curly brown hair stood at the pillars side, listening to Myrad with particular attention.

"My fellow students," Myrad began, his voice projecting confidence across the room "Today, we take a great step in understanding destruction sciences. The salts excreted by atronachs have long eluded mages as to their true potential. Today, with your help, we will take the first great step forward to that potential." Gesturing to the boy by the pillar, Myrad continued, "And I couldn't have done it without Caleb Bradway. His notes and advice on fire salts have helped fuel this experiment since day one." The room applauded and Myrad waited a moment for the clapping to subside. Clearing his throat, Myrad pointed to the small switch at the side of the crystal pillar. "And due to that contribution. It will be him who has the honor. Caleb?" Caleb turned to Myrad and smiled, his mouth moving with words Myrad was unable to here. The motion of his lips appeared to be repeating the same words over and over. Myrad strained his eyes, attempting to see what was being said as slowly, sound returned to Caleb's throat.

"_you killed killed me._You killed me. **You Killed me. YOU KILLED ME**."

* * *

The smell of burning flesh shot up Myrad's nose and he awoke gasping for air in a cold sweat.


	5. Chapter 5: Gold Will Get You Everywhere

Myrad stepped out into the hall of the Eight Plates, still in the process of donning his robe. His head was in a blur, and his hair was bedraggled about his face like a mad man's. The night had not been kind to him. Briefly checking that his pockets were still filled with ill-gotten gold, Myrad shuffled out of the inn, raising an obscene gesture to the door of the place as he left. The sun glared down at him, piercing through his skull like a dagger.

_Dagger…dagger… my dagger! No wait, the package! Fuckin' oblivion it's at the woman's house._

Myrad massaged his skull. The world was a cruel, cruel place. Myrad hadn't slept without nightmares since… well, wait…since…

_Since that woman's gods-damned bed,_ he suddenly realized, his pace picking up. There was something about that bed and he was going to figure out what.

His fists made three brisk raps at the door. It took a moment before a pair of eyes peered through one of the windows widening as they saw him.

"Go away!" Her voice was muffled by the walls.

Myrad looked her dead in the eye as he rapped thrice more. Harder this time.

"Are you actually that thick-headed!? I _will _call the guards."

Myrad knocked again. One, two, three. Spaced pointedly apart, each like the period of a sentence. There was a barely audible groan from inside and the woman's face pulled away from her window. He heard footsteps then the door opened a crack. Myrad had his in, and he knew just how to fix this whole situation. The Redguard poked her face through the crack in the door, glaring at Myrad.

"What do you want, n'wah?"

Myrad cleared his throat and handed the woman five gold pieces which he had spent his walk picking clean of dirt. She looked up and down at him, her face one of mild shock.

"I would like to try and make up for the trouble I caused you, miss…?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Karlirah. And… thank you."

"-And…" Myrad injected, "I should like to retrieve the package I've accidentally left in your care."

The woman sighed, looked at the gold, then at Myrad. "Alright, fine. Come in."

The door swung the rest of the way open and Myrad stepped graciously inside. The woman gestured over to a chair in the corner where Myrad's package sat, still wrapped.

"I'm surprised you haven't opened it, honestly." Myrad said, picking up the small box and tucking it under his arm.

"It says it's to be delivered to fort Moonmoth down the road so I-"

"It does?" Myrad interrupted.

"Y-yes? You hadn't read it?" The Redguard's eyebrow raised in question.

"Honestly I had barely given it a thought."

Karlirah paused for a moment, looking Myrad up and down. Suddenly her arm shot out and snatched the package from beneath his arm.

"For fucks sake, stop taking my things!" Myrad snapped "Hand it over! That, and my dagger, if you please."

"I _don't_ please, and I'm not giving this package to you. I know you've stolen it from somewhere."

People suspecting him of stealing made Myrad slightly disconcerted, in light of his recent escapade. So Myrad stumbled on his next few words "I-I-I…no! No I haven't! The Imperials…"

"The Imperials, _what_?"

"Okay, I got into some trouble with the Imperials and-"

"For stealing packages, eh?"

"AND… to repay my debt I was given the task of delivering that package." Myrad finished.

Karlirah looked unconvinced, shifting the package back and forth in her hands.

"I'm not sure you can be trusted." She finally said, after a few more seconds of silence.

"What? Come on, what besides breaking into your home have I done to make you distrust me."

Karlirah pointed to the door.

Myrad immediately held up his hands "A joke! I'm joking!" Dropping them back down again, he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm… Look I'm sorry about before, but that package _is _very important to me, because they will presumably be very cross with me if I don't end up bringing it to Moonmoat or whatever you said."

"Moonmoth."

"That's the one."

Karlirah spent a moment looking at the package, then slowly held it back out to Myrad, who quickly took it back. "Thank you." Myrad said, bowing, half in jest. "And the dagger?"

"Not on your life."

"Another quick question, have you heard the guards bustling around? Looking for anyone?"

Karlirah's eyes narrowed. "No… why?"

"I'd just heard a rumor, nothing to worry about." Myrad said, adjusting the box beneath his arm.

"Now, if that's all…" Karlirah motioned for him to back out through the door.

"I have one more question for you."

"Spit it out."

"Is your bed magic?"

The question hung in the air like a lame duck for a few moments before plummeting to the ground.

"Get out of my house."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Out!" and with that final word, Karlirah shoved Myrad back, the force carrying him through the doorframe and out into a heap on the street._ Better than it could have gone, I suppose._ Myrad thought, collecting himself and brushing dirt from his robe. The woman was clearly out of touch with common courtesy, but Myrad had his box back and had paid his debts. The day was still young, and Myrad had a pocket full of gold. Maybe he'd wait another day before he left Balmora. And though he doubted it, maybe the city would have sights to see. Myrad didn't need much reason to justify the spending of excess gold. It was in fact, his most favorite pastime.

First thing, Myrad visited a small club on Balmora's West end, procuring a plate of what he found to be quite delicious local fare. Secondly, He visited the upper district (an area he found to be much more palatable than the rest of the city) and visited a clothier to be fitted for a new robe. Before his late lunch at Eight Plates had fully settled, the sun began to dip into the edge of the hills.

* * *

Myrad grumbled as he sat in one of the chairs outside of the Eight Plates inn. Another night in that place made him dread the impending darkness. His nightmares had gotten worse ever since they dragged him onto that ship back in Northpoint, and the one night of tolerable sleep in Karlirah's house had only served to emphasize the issue. Myrad shivered slumping into his chair even further. The sky was darkening, and though the day could be worked through well enough, the only way he'd found to quell his nerves during the night was heavy drinking. Myrad wasn't sure his stomach could take any more of that shein. _Maybe if I…._ Myrad stared off in the direction of Karlirah's. Another night's rest in that bed would be divine, and if there was one thing Myrad had learned in his life…

_Gold will get you everywhere._

One, two, three. His fist connected with Karlirah's door. It opened a crack and the glow of her lamps shone out into the darkening street. She was greeted by an overconfident smile and a hand held out, brandishing a coin.

"No. Seriously, I'm calling the guards." Karlirah slammed the door shut and Myrad quickly put his mouth to the door's frame, shouting into the crack.

"Thirty gold a night!"

A sigh, and Karlirah turned around, reopening the door, still not wide enough for Myrad to step through.

"What?"

"Thirty gold." Myrad repeated. "I will pay you thirty septims per night to rent out your upper room."

Karlirah folded her arms and stared Myrad down, bracing her foot against the door to prevent it from opening.

"Why?"

"Because, as I mentioned before, I have an appreciation for your bed. I've also found the inns around here to be unsatisfactory." Myrad put his coin back into his robe's pocket, making a point to jingle his collection of septims audibly.

"I believe you asked if my bed was magic."

"A figure of speech."

"Of course."

They both stood in relative silence for a moment, Karlirah's piercing gaze making Myrad progressively more uncomfortable.

"So are you interested in the gold or not?"

"Forty gold." Karlirah smirked.

Myrad blustered. "What!? I'm already offering you three _times_ the amount it costs for a night at the inn!"

"Aye," Karlirah said with a quick chuckle at Myrad's expense. "But apparently, my bed is mystical. Forty gold per night."

Myrad's head rolled back in a groan. "Daedra take you then. Thirty five. Take it or leave it."

"Done." Karlirah spat in her hand and held it out for a shake. He stared at the wetted hand, aghast. The woman nodded at it expectedly. "Go on then. Seal the deal, Breton."

"S'not very lady-like of you."

The hand shot back.

"Well it's not very lady-like to rent a bed to an unknown stranger and criminal so I suppose…" The door began to close and Myrad quickly stuck his hand through the open edge to keep the door from latching.

"Fine! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just…" He trailed off without the words to continue. Karlirah re-extended her hand, spittle still plastered across it.

"Bless the fuckin Nine…" Myrad muttered as he slid his hand into the lock of a handshake. The deal was done. The door opened up into Karlirah's lower level and Myrad stepped inside, leaving his shoes at the door with Karlirah's. Karlirah immediately snatched them up and handed them back to Myrad.

"Wh-"

"Rule number one, no leaving your things about in the lower level. Everything stays confined to the upper bedroom."

Myrad grimaced, taking back the shoes. "Right."

"Second Rule," Karlirah continued. "You are not allowed to spend the day here. Only come in when you're aiming to sleep."

"That's not entirely-"

"Third: If I find anything missing, you'll be jailed and quite possibly poked full of holes faster than you can say 'cliff racer'."

"What's a-"

"Fourth and finally: you are to deliver that package _tomorrow morning_."

Myrad grumbled. "Why do you care? The box is my responsibility."

Karlirah continued to usher him towards the stairs. "Because… wait, what was your name again?"

"I'd never mentioned it." Myrad said, taking his first few steps to the upper level. "It's Myrad Ulric."

"Because, _Myrad_, I'd rather not have Imperials searching the town for some important package and finding _you_ hiding in my spare room."

Myrad gave no answer, and continued the walk to his new bedroom. Karlirah followed him just to the top of the stairs and tapped his shoulder to gain his attention. She pointed around the room, addressing the things he may need.

"The blankets are in the largest basket, as well as an extra pillow. Feel free to read any of the books up here but be careful with them and put them back when you've finished. The locked chests are off limits, if you use up any candles be sure to replace them."

Myrad nodded his understanding and fell across the bed with a contented sigh.

Karlirah finished, "If there's an emergency, holler. Otherwise, try not to bother me."

"Mhm." Myrad mumbled, rolling over in the covers as Karlirah descended the stairs.

For a moment at the door, Myrad had wondered whether a night's sleep was worth thirty five gold. Now, wrapped in the glorious folds of his purchase, he couldn't manage even a moment of buyer's remorse.


End file.
